


The most important question; alternatively: Sherlock Holmes' impeccable sense of timing

by Raspberries_Heartbeat



Series: Insights in the domestic life of the 221B Baker Street family [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Confessions, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Sherlock, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, John Watson is a great father, M/M, Parentlock, Playful teasing, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Short & Sweet, silly nicknames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 12:36:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13764315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raspberries_Heartbeat/pseuds/Raspberries_Heartbeat
Summary: There was something about him- something that made the usually stoic detective breathless and emotional, something that made him want to fall onto his knees and promise the world to this wonderful human being. His wonderful human being, his John Watson.---Sherlock has an important question to ask. John thinks his timing could use some work. They're the happiest pair of idiots, either way.





	The most important question; alternatively: Sherlock Holmes' impeccable sense of timing

“Well that was…. Something” John chuckled good-naturedly while he furiously wiped some golden glitter from the kitchen counter. This afternoon Sherlock had been called for a pretty uneventful case (he went anyway, because he technically still owned Greg for the babysitting) and John and Rosie were left to their own devices. John, currently obsessed with teaching his curious little daughter about absolutely everything, came up with the glorious idea they could so some “science”. Not the Sherlock-y kind of science, mind you, with all kinds of poisonous chemicals and explosions, but a tame kind of science. He consulted the internet (mainly one of the Mummy-blogs he secretly subscribed to, because damn those Mums really knew all the little nips and tricks) and came up with something Rosie was absolutely _delighted_ about.

 

So, they made slime. Pink, glittery, _fabulous_ slime. Or they attempted to, more accurately.

 

After around two hours wasted on the most boring case in history, Sherlock was greeted with a pink explosion that must have erupted in their kitchen. It was everywhere, covered every surface neatly and most of John’s clothes.

The smile on Rosie’s face when she showed him what he assumed to be a fair effort of creating slime, though was unbeatable. John was smiling as well, looking absolutely wrecked, but at the same time very pleased with himself. Sherlock came home just in time for Rosie’s afternoon nap, so he took it upon himself to give her a quick wash and read her a little story to lure her to sleep. Not even ten minutes later, Rosie was out like a light; and Sherlock returned to the kitchen, to possibly help his partner with the damage control.

 

Sherlock lend against the table and just … watched him for some minutes. The army doctor hummed happily to himself, scrubbing some glue from the sink. There were blotches of glue and food colouring littered all across one of his older shirts (one he rarely wore, mainly because it was a flannel that made him look like lumberjack who had been shrinked (John’s opinion) or like the ultimate Dad (Sherlock’s opinion)), there was more food colouring in his hair, and even some golden glitter scattered across his cheeks and brows. Sherlock watched him idly cleaning up the mess he had voluntarily made to make their little girl happy and felt something warm seep into his chest. Everything about him had been thrown into chaos, and Sherlock thought his John had never looked more beautiful.

There was something about him- something that made the usually stoic detective breathless and emotional, something that made him want to fall onto his knees and promise the world to this wonderful human being. _His_ wonderful human being, his John Watson.

A sense of possessiveness and pride welled over him, a feeling that had been unfamiliar to him before he had met the doctor. There was no use in fretting over other people when you just didn’t care about them. But John- god, John- he was sure he would never get over the thrill of holding the doctor’s hand or embrace him or just watch him in moments like these; in moments when he didn’t try to impress anyone, in moments when he didn’t put on a persona, in moments when he just was _himself_.

The detective swallowed around the lump in his throat and just knew that he _had_ to ask John today. There was a question that had been ghosting around his mind for the past two months, but he never had the nerve to ask it out loud. It was still a foreign concept to him to be anxious about speaking his mind, but damn, this was important. He had gathered up enough courage multiple times, but always chickened out in the last minute. The risk of John declining was… devastating to be honest. Sherlock honestly wasn’t sure how he would take a rejection. Still, he _had_ to ask John.

 

 

“I could use some help here, Sherls” John’s voice was filled with warm teasing. It sort of became their routine. John would call him “Sherls” whenever he tried to coax him into doing some housework, because Sherlock once mumbled the nickname seemed more fitting for a housewife in her forties. His reply was always the same: “Don’t call me that”, then John would proceed to tease him some more, which would ultimate lead to cheerful fighting, sometimes cleaning, and playful sex. It was a weird routine, but it was _their_ routine, and it worked spectacularly well.

When the expected reply never came, John actually paused cleaning and turned around, raising an eyebrow. When he saw the solemn expression on his partner’s face, he chuckled nervously. “Something up? You’re acting more funny than usual”

Sherlock didn’t answer immediately, instead he took a deep breath to calm his racing heart, he fumbled a folded paper out of his coat pocket (his coat thrown mindlessly over one of the kitchen chairs) and came over to his doctor.

 

“Sherlock?” John queried, getting nervous. “Is everything okay?” he searched his partners face for any clues. “Who did you piss off today?”

 

Sherlock lost his serious expression for a split second to give John a little grin. “Everything’s fine. More than fine, actually” he circled his doctor’s waist with his arms, pulling them flush together. John pushed against his chest, gently.

 

“Stop, I’m fairly disgusting right now” he laughed lightly, but Sherlock just smiled and hugged him even tighter for emphasis.

 

“You’re not, you’re always wonderful, John”

 

“Aw, you old sap” John smiled at him like _that_ , and Sherlock knew he had to ask him or he’d might detonate.

 

“John” he started, voice quivering annoyingly. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You know you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, yeah?” John’s eyes softened and his basically turned to putty in his partner’s arms.

 

“Yeah” he breathed out. “Same goes for you”

 

“You know I love you” Sherlock continued, kissing the doctor’s nose affectionately. “And I love Rosie. I need you, I need you so much, and I will probably never stop trying to make her the happiest girl in the world. She deserves it, because she’s wonderful, just like you, you’re both so wonderful and I still can’t believe that I have you in my life”

 John squeezed his partner gently, touched by his honest confession.

 

“So, I’ve been thinking” Here goes nothing.

He let go of John’s waist, to hand him to folded piece of paper. John raised an eyebrow in question. The detective gestured for him to open it. There was a small period of silence while John scanned the lines. His eye widened a little when he came to the main body of the document. He looked up, with an unreadable expression. Sherlock’s stomach did a forceful backflip and his heart sank wetly into his guts. There had been a really small chance that John wouldn’t agree to the idea, it was small but maybe significant enough, maybe he shouldn’t have taken the risk, maybe-

 

“You’re asking me for permission to adopt my daughter?”

 

Sherlock nodded, dumbly. “I want to be her legal guardian as well” he added, quietly. “That she can grow up with a real family”

John looked at the paper, then at Sherlock, then at the paper again.

 

“You are seriously asking probably the most important question of our life _now_ , in our destroyed kitchen, while I look like _this_?!”

He started giggling, and the vice around Sherlock’s organs loosened. He shrugged, a little helpless with interpreting manic giggles as an answer.

 

“Is that a yes, or…?” he asked timidly, just to make sure.

John gave him that look, that look that said “Are you seriously such an idiot?” and pulled him into a soundful kiss.

 

“Yes, yes of course, you madman! God, Sherlock… you never cease to surprise me!”

Sherlock’s heart melted, and he beamed brightly. John laughed, because for once in his life everything was going so fucking perfect. Sherlock made everything perfect, so he grabbed him around the hips and lifted him up (earning a surprised squeak from the detective), to dance around in their still very glittery, and very _fabulous_ , kitchen. The detective yelped, and grabbed his doctor’s shoulders to keep his balance, but couldn’t stop to join in his laughter as well.

When the first burst of excitement had subsided, John placed Sherlock gently upon the only clean stripe of their kitchen counter, and leand against him, face pressing lightly against his partner’s stomach. He breathed in the clean stench of _Sherlock_ and let the warmth from the detective’s shirt warm his face. He sighed, suddenly overcome by a powerful emotion.

 

They were really doing this.

 

John never once allowed himself to dream that Sherlock wanted to adopt Rosie. That they could be her parents, thoughtfully and unconditionally. His heart leaped in his throat, and he might have started to cry a little bit. Sherlock caressed his slightly trembling shoulders soothingly.

 

“You have no idea how much this means to me” John murmured against Sherlock’s stomach, tightening his secure grip around the detective’s waist. “God Sherlock…” he trailed off.

 “I know” his partner murmured, placing a soft kiss against the crown of John’s head.

 

They stayed like this for a small eternity. They were really doing this.

A family.

God, they could really be a family. Sherlock Holmes was a wonder, and the single greatest thing in John Watson’s life. How in the world he did deserve such a compassionate and thoughtful partner, he didn’t know. He didn’t really care much either, though. This beautiful madman was going to raise their daughter together with him.

The future had never looked more exciting.

 

After another minute of emotional cuddling, John pulled away, wiped around at his eyes and let out a shaky sigh.

“We still need to clean up this mess, though” He gave Sherlock a pointed look. “You could make yourself useful, _Sherls_ ”

 

The detective’s lips curved into a playful smirk. “Don’t call me that” he replied, before he jumped from the counter, and poked his partner in the rips.

 

He still couldn’t believe that this was his life now. But just one look at the expression on John’s face told him, that he didn’t really matter either way.

 

He just knew that he couldn’t wait to spend every day for the rest of his life with his little family.

**Author's Note:**

> Something short I came up with at like 11 in the evening. Yes, I still have two works that desperately wait for a new chapter, but babies don't you panic (take a moment to appreciate the Rocky Horror reference), I'm working on it (promise!)


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